Swimming to Chicago Read online

  Alex turned over on his left side, facing the double accordion doors of his closet. He closed his eyes, remembering what it had felt like when Tommy Freeman was next to him in bed.

  *

  The room had been dark and wrapped in the young sweetness of dawn. Alex was lying on the edge of the bed, listening to the melodic rhythm of Tommy’s breathing and facing his closet, his bedroom door, and the massive poster of Metric’s lead singer Emily Haines covering half of the wall.

  While Tommy slept, Alex found a source to calm his nerves: reciting all of the lyrics to his favorite Metric songs in his mind, starting with “Help, I’m Alive” and ending with “Poster of a Girl.”

  Why am I so nervous? he thought in between the songs playing in his mental jukebox. It’s just Tommy Freeman. We’ve been friends forever. Hell, we work together.

  Alex tried desperately to ignore the nagging desire he felt to be close to Tommy. The boys were lying back to back. Tommy was facing the wall. The tips of Tommy’s toes were near the edge of the windowsill. Alex felt wired, unusually alert. His eyes darted around the room, squinting and trying to make out Emily’s frozen features in the sallow summer sunrise.

  Alex felt guilty. He wanted to look at Tommy. He wanted to study his face. He wanted to touch the slightly curled edges of his dark blond hair. He wanted to scoot back a little so their spines were touching. He wanted to roll over and kiss the back of Tommy’s neck. Alex just couldn’t figure out why he was having these thoughts.

  Alex’s shoulders tightened as Tommy suddenly turned over and draped a casual, sleepy arm around his waist. He could feel the warmth of Tommy’s palm and fingertips, resting against his stomach, just inches above the waistband of his boxers. Tommy’s mouth, his full lips, hovered delicately over the nape of Alex’s neck. Alex’s heart began to pound so fast and loud he was certain it would wake Tommy up.

  Tommy has no idea what he’s doing. He’s sound asleep and he thinks I’m someone else.

  But then Alex started to wonder if Tommy really was asleep. His breathing seemed different, softer and more urgent. Alex could feel it like tiny breezes blowing across the right shoulder of his black T-shirt.

  Minutes ticked by, but they felt like agonizing hours to Alex. He was immobilized with a wild sense of fear and anticipation. Every nerve in his body was flickering with electricity. Alex could almost see the energy in the dark—vivid blue and white flashes, glowing and zooming around the room like a dance troupe of fireflies.

  Each time Tommy exhaled, the tip of his index finger would lightly touch Alex’s skin, landing dangerously on his stomach. Alex closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the lyrics in his mind, imagining Emily Haines singing them in his ear. He tried to think about anything that might make his hard-on go away.

  He panicked a little, feeling paranoid. What if this is a trap? What if Tommy is testing me? He’ll tell everyone that I’m…

  Tommy shifted a little, still claiming sleep. His hand moved, drifting slightly downward from Alex’s stomach to the front of his boxers. Alex held his breath, terrified to move. Tommy’s hand was still, barely touching Alex, but it was close enough to create an intense feeling of pleasure soaring through Alex. He pushed his hips forward a little, inviting Tommy to take the moment further.

  Alex was consumed by desire. A full-throttle rush was causing the lower half of his body to tremble. His teeth began to chatter.

  Then, the realization that what he was doing felt unmistakably right.

  It was at that pivotal moment that everything in Alex’s searching mind unraveled and revealed itself in breathtaking clarity—a glorious feeling of surprise. Every thought and desire previously misunderstood, cleverly denied or rationalized, surfaced and bloomed in his mind. Trepidations that had traveled in his mind and heart since he was twelve were now greeted with the same unequivocal answer and explanation. The covert thoughts were set free, each carrying the potential destiny to forever change the world.

  Alex smiled to himself; the realization of it was nearly strong enough to light up the entire bedroom.

  I like men. I’m gay.

  Alex wondered if Tommy was gay, too. He can’t be. He likes girls. He’s the friggin’ wingback on the football team.

  To answer the questions playing hopscotch in Alex’s mind, Tommy lifted his head a little and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, Alex.” The words showered down on the right side of Alex’s face and trickled into his ear like warm drops of summer rain.

  Alex swallowed, fearing he’d lost his ability to speak. His voice was a strained whisper when he responded, “I won’t, Tommy.”

  Tommy lowered his head, placing the side of his face against Alex’s. In unison, they closed their eyes, both physically overwhelmed by their lust and intrigue. “Can I touch you?” Tommy’s voice tiptoed across Alex’s skin.

  Alex rolled over onto his back. “Yes,” he breathed.

  Tommy slid his fingers into the opening in the front of Alex’s boxers. Alex shuddered, groping under the sheets, reaching for Tommy and the front of his briefs. Tommy moaned a little as Alex’s hand made contact with his hot skin.

  The two boys looked into each other’s eyes as they caressed, fondled, and explored. It was a mirrored image, as both of them felt a simultaneous surge leaving them shaking with a shared comfort and camaraderie. As their lips caught fire by the single breath floating between their anxious mouths, their melting stares seared away inhibitions. They caught their first glimpse of a rawness and primal power they had never felt in themselves. In each other’s eyes, they saw the arch of a bridge and they walked across, hand in hand, leaving the land of innocence and facing the undiscovered territory of adulthood.

  For Alex, it would become a place he’d try to return to for the rest of his life.

  *

  It had been Tommy’s idea to spend the night. Alex wasn’t surprised by the suggestion. In the few weeks Alex had worked the cash register at the Freemans’ hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, he and Tommy had become close friends. They’d known each other for nearly twelve years but had rarely spoken.

  In truth, they had very little in common. The pizzeria united them, an inevitable bond forming as their conversations evolved from mozzarella cheese and its origin to what life would be like once they graduated next year.

  Tommy’s world consisted of football, adulation from eager young women, and testosterone-fueled conversations in the hallway at school with hormonal buddies who leered lovingly at every pair of breasts passing them by. Although Alex was agile, athletics were not his interest. He preferred comic books, sci-fi novels, horror films, and skateboards. He didn’t like to be part of the crowd, preferring to stand back and observe.

  It became evident to Alex that Tommy was far more intellectual than his persona at school suggested. They started talking about religion, politics, and heated topics like the death penalty. Alex found himself looking forward to the nights he’d work with Tommy, even changing his schedule to afford them more time together. Alex wanted Tommy to feel important. He listened attentively to his words. Tommy loved to be venerated, and so Alex poured devotion on him.

  Although Alex would never admit it, his conversations with Tommy and their body language were becoming increasingly more flirtatious and suggestive. The comfortable, warm giddiness Alex felt was spawned by Tommy’s obvious desire to be in his presence. Alex had never felt such a strong bond with another man, not even his father.

  Tommy’s father was Boyd Freeman, whose deep Southern roots seemed to tangle around everything he did and said. He was a short, balding fellow who wore large, round glasses and had been cursed with a tremendous overbite. Boyd’s given name had long ago been substituted with a cruel but sticking term of affection: Bunny. Like most things that truly bothered him, Boyd—or Bunny—shrugged off the name with a wink, a smile, and a tender and sheepish, “Y’all know that’s not my name.”

  It seemed to Alex that Bunny’s words for his only son were always thick with expectat
ions. Alex wondered if Tommy represented the type of person Bunny would never be: athletic, charismatic, beautiful. The weight of perfection seemed to rest on Tommy’s broad shoulders.

  Alex watched Tommy work tirelessly in the kitchen of his father’s restaurant, hunching over a stainless steel counter, kneading and forming perfectly round pizza crusts. From where he stood behind the register, Alex caught himself stealing glances at Tommy, noticing the way Tommy’s fingers tightened when he massaged the dough, spreading it across a pizza pan, and how he smoothed it out around the curved edges of the metal plate.

  It made Alex ache to be touched.

  On the twelfth night they worked together, Alex started to wonder what it would be like to be touched by Tommy. He tried shutting the thought out, closing his eyes and erasing the imagined moment from his mind.

  *

  Tommy and Alex’s friendship had shifted on the last Saturday in June. The hour was late—nearly closing time. Tommy’s older sister, Sue Ellen, was on her cell phone, sitting in a booth in the empty dining room. Her congested laughter sprayed through the humid air. “You fucking kill me!” she howled, not losing count of the wad of bills she’d pulled from the front pocket of her apron. Although she’d put on a little weight in the two years since graduating from high school, Sue Ellen still knew how to earn big tips. Alex assumed the power she held was in her walk. Night after night, she sauntered through the restaurant like a cat, slinking around the corners of the place and rubbing up against the male customers. Sue Ellen did this so effortlessly, Alex felt awed. Often, he’d watch her from behind the front counter, waiting for her to pounce.

  The Georgia summer air was thick and murky, even at night. The kitchen was unusually hot. Alex stood in the doorway, his back to the register and dining room, focusing on the beads of sweat forming around Tommy’s temples. He liked the way Tommy’s T-shirt clung to the small of his back. A tiny pool of perspiration had formed just above the waistband of his Bermuda shorts.

  Alex licked his lips, ready to say something clever. But Tommy’s words derailed his train of thought. “My sister thinks you’re hot.”

  Alex cringed. “Your sister isn’t my type.”

  Tommy laughed a little. Using his thumb and index finger, he flicked his right wrist, sliding thin slices of pepperoni onto the tops of two pizzas as if they were miniature Frisbees. The movement was quick and precise, almost automatic. Alex was mesmerized, his eyes locked on Tommy’s hand. “My sister thinks she’s everybody’s type.”

  Alex tried to laugh but it caught it in his throat. “I thought she was dating Hunter.”

  “Dating?” Tommy laughed again, for both of them. “That’s putting it nicely. I heard she gave Hunter a bad case of crabs.”

  Alex’s cheeks flushed with guilt. He knew exactly who’d started that rumor. Jillian had done it out of spite. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

  Tommy moved closer to Alex and their arms touched. “Between you and me,” he whispered, “my sister gets what she deserves. My dad spoils her like crazy.”

  “I don’t know why he does,” Alex replied, as if on cue. “Everyone can see you’re the smart one in the family.”

  Tommy grinned and shot a look at him. It swam inside Alex’s belly, warming him like the sips of Armenian whiskey he occasionally stole from the bottle his mother stashed behind the washing machine. “You don’t have to say stuff like that,” Tommy said.

  Alex looked away, to the burning glow of a neon sign above the cash register. “Well, it’s true.”

  Tommy stepped forward and Alex felt scared, unsure. “Hey,” Tommy said with a sudden rush of excitement. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Same thing I do every night. Watch too much television or read comics.”

  “You don’t have any plans with Jillian?”

  “No.” Alex looked down at the floor, to the black and white checkered linoleum tile. He’d been neglecting Jillian lately and he felt bad about it. “Not tonight. I think she’s busy.”

  “I don’t blame you, Alex.” Tommy’s words made Alex look up. He waited for clarification. “I wouldn’t go out with a girl like Sue Ellen either. Not when I had a girl like Jillian. Now, she is hot.”

  “Me and Jillian are just friends.”

  Tommy tossed him a look. “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “No. There’s nothing going on between us.”

  “Man, why not? Half of the school thinks you’re boning her.”

  Alex shrugged his shoulders, battling an onslaught of unexplainable sadness. “Well,” he answered, “I’m not.”

  Tommy moved closer, playfully tugged on the loose strings of Alex’s white apron. “No plans tonight, huh?”

  Alex’s mood brightened. He shifted nervously in his black and white Converse. “Nothing special.”

  Tommy turned back to his pizzas on the shiny silver counter. He flicked a few more slices of pepperoni and asked casually, “You want some company?”

  Jillian

  In Jillian’s oversized sunken living room, Alex looked down at what was sitting on top of the nicked wooden coffee table. “Backgammon?” he asked her. “We’re playing backgammon on a Friday night? We’ve reached an all-time low, Jilli.”

  She reached up and pulled Alex down to the floor where she sat. “You got any better ideas?”

  Alex pulled off his shoes. He crossed his legs, Indian-style, scooting across the worn-thin carpet and positioning himself on the opposite side of the coffee table from Jillian. “Plenty, but most of them are illegal.”

  Jillian grinned with hope, recognizing flashes of Alex’s usual self. “Those will have to wait until our senior year officially begins in August. Tonight, you and I are playing Nardi.” She kicked off her new sandals, the ones with white straps and pink daisies.

  Alex gave her a strange look. His face was illuminated with the warm glow from the scented candles flickering around the sunken room. “Nardi? You’ve been spending too much time with my mother.”

  Jillian laughed a little and said, “Secretly, she hopes you and I will get married.”

  Alex flashed a smile. “She’ll adopt you if you keep learning to speak Armenian.”

  “For some reason, it comes easy to me. How come you never speak it?”

  Alex ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair and said, “People already think I look like a terrorist.”

  “Only because they’re lame.”

  “Why bother speaking it? No one understands it. Especially my father.”

  “Yeah…but, still…it’s a part of who you are.”

  “I’m only half Armenian,” he reminded her. “My dad’s a dumb redneck.”

  “I think it’s a beautiful language, Alex. I love to listen to your mom speak when I’m—”

  Alex shifted the conversation. “You’ve really gone all out tonight,” he marveled, gesturing to the bottles of ice-cold Wild Cherry Pepsis, the green Tupperware bowl of potato chips, the store-bought plastic container of French onion dip, and the bag of pink and white marshmallows.

  “I feel like we haven’t spent much time together this week,” she said.

  Alex leaned back, resting his spine against the edge of the tattered olive green sofa behind him. “Is this a guilt trip?”

  Jillian pushed the bowl of chips toward him. “No special occasion. I had time on my hands.”

  Alex sighed. “Is the parental unit still at work?”

  “Whoring herself around Applebee’s like an amateur call girl.”

  He grabbed a potato chip. Jillian watched as it moved toward his mouth. He ate it and wiped his hand on the leg of his black shorts. “I’m lucky I had tonight off.”

  Jillian leaned forward a little, confused. “Tommy said you haven’t been to work since last Saturday. He said you missed three of your shifts.”

  Tension filled Alex’s posture. “You talked to Tommy?”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed when he said Tommy’s name.

  Did they ha
ve a fight? “Last night,” Jillian felt the need to explain. “I called there because I thought you were working late or something. He answered the phone and I grilled him.”

  Alex’s answer was quick. “I was home last night. I thought I texted you.”

  Jillian reached for a pack of cigarettes sitting next to a giant seashell ashtray. “I figured you had to be working, otherwise you’d have been here.”

  “Was I supposed to be?”

  The way he was so dismissive and irritated made Jillian want to throttle him. Instead, she lit her cigarette, took a short drag, and exhaled. “I waited and waited.”

  Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “Your period?”

  She felt exasperation seep into her words. “My birthday.”